In Darkness, Light
by j.pembroke
Summary: Even in the middle of World War Two, Hugh Fitzcairn can find reasons to be grateful.


**France, 1941**

It's late May, and Fitz is bloody glad of it. He's been running back and forth across the Channel since the blockade first went up, and the increasingly warm temperatures will make the trip that much easier. They're leaning against a fence in the darkness: Fitz, and four Frenchmen who between them comprise the area's most effective Resistance cell. Since he knows the leader, Etienne, fairly well, and knows his men by name, they've stopped for a few minutes to exchange greetings and information: a few words about Etienne's wife and infant daughter, the latest news from England, good wishes and hopes for victory. They're each holding one of the cigarettes Fitz had brought with him, and Etienne is opening his lighter when harsh German syllables break into the temporary peace of their circle.

_"Sich kennzeichnen! Wer du sind?!"_

One of Etienne's men swears in French. Etienne, startled, accidentally flicks his lighter. The flame briefly illuminates his look of surprise and dismay before he snaps it shut, and Fitz is in front of him, pushing him out of the way even as the sharp bark of a Karabiner splits the stillness of the night even further. A hard knot of pain explodes in Fitz's chest and he staggers, trying to raise his pistol even as he fights back the flaring agony. He manages to fire once, but the recoil drives him to his knees. 

Dimly, he can hear Etienne shouting, the French syllables seeming to blur into the sounds of rifle fire that erupted all around them. He's going to get himself _ killed_, Fitz thinks irritably; then the rifle fire dies briefly and he feels a pair of strong hands grab him around the waist and haul him to his feet. Fresh agony ignites in his chest, and he tries to push whoever it is away.

"Stop fighting me, Hugh!" 

It takes Fitz a moment to realise that the strongly-accented English is Etienne speaking. They've always used French for their exchanges. He slings one of Fitz's arms over his shoulder and grabs his hand, then wraps his other arm around Fitz's waist.

"We have a place, not too far from here. I can get you a doctor."

"Won't need a doctor," Fitz manages. "Put me down, dammit."

_ "Non."_

Fitz doesn't need light to know that the young man's jaw is set hard with resolve. He's what - twenty two? Twenty-three? Fitz can't remember. The other three Frenchmen are spread out, two guarding their retreat while one walks point. He's slowing them down; they're all going to die for nothing. 

"Etienne - you're going to get caught. Put me down. I'll be fine."

"We will only get caught if you keep talking," Etienne murmurs. "Claude knows these woods better than any German does."

Fitz believes it. He'd hunted Frenchmen through these woods himself in earlier years; earlier wars. This isn't the first time he's gone stumbling and bleeding across French soil with a hole in his chest. The thought makes him feel very tired, and very old.

The trip to the safehouse seems interminable. Three times Claude stops, raising a hand for silence, and each time the entire group drops swiftly to the ground with enough force to send shockwaves of new damage through Fitz's healing chest. The third time he hits the ground he is unable to hold back an oath, and Etienne's hand comes down over his mouth with bruising force. As they ge back to their feet, Fitz feels a fresh trickle of blood run down his side.

They keep going. After a while, Etienne begins murmuring encouragements. Fitz's chest still hurts like the very devil, but it's finally starting to heal properly. When Claude's hand lifts for the fourth time, he tenses in preparation for another painful tumble, but Etienne is pushing him forward instead.

There is a farmhouse ahead of them, a small stone protrusion of civilization into the darkened woods, with one lamp gleaming precisely from a downstairs window. Several other windows are lit up, but the one lamp shines as an obvious signal: safety lies here. All is well. Fitz can feel the tension easing from the men around him.

"Come on, Hugh," Etienne says. "Let's get you inside and looked at." The almost-healed ache in Fitz's chest transfers itself to nausea in the pit of his stomach.

"Rene, Charles, come and help me," Etienne orders.

"Really, Etienne, I can walk."

"Why did we bring him back, anyway?" grumbles one of the men named, a dark, slender little fellow with an apparently permanent scowl.

"He took a bullet for me, Rene," Etienne says firmly. "Besides, were it not for Hugh we would long ago have been reduced to throwing rocks at the Germans."

Rene subsides, and he and Claude - a large, older man with deceptively sleepy eyes - help a protesting Fitz inside. When they get into the light, both men are visibly shaken by the amount of blood on his shirt.

"Christ!" Rene is no longer scowling. "Claude, pick him up, get him into the kitchen. _Christ!"_ he repeats. "He's going to fucking bleed to death!"

"No, I'm not," Fitz says. Claude settles for supporting rather than carrying him, but they're still moving fast towards the kitchen - which means discovery. Better the Resistance than the SS, though - and Fitz cuts that line of thought off in a hurry. Whatever happens, these men have saved him from that. There are, he knows, Immortals who would kill all four of them without thinking twice, simply to save themselves from discovery. 

Hugh Fitzcairn, unable to face killing three mortals who were trying to help him, lets himself be assisted into the kitchen, knowing that he is about to be found out.

The kitchen is at the back of the house, down a long stone hallway. Etienne hovers nervously the whole way, with the fourth man, Charles, bringing up the rear. As soon as they enter the room, Etienne starts opening cabinets, presumably in search of first aid supplies.

"That's not necessary, Etienne," Fitz tells him. He pulls away from Claude, who looks at him without emotion. "I'm all right. Really."

Rene lets loose with a stream of rapid French that Fitz only catches a few words of. Since the words are 'damn', 'fool', and 'Englishman', he feels fairly sure that he understood the gist of the little man's speech. Charles takes him gently by the arm, and Fitz is suddenly tired of prolonging the situation. There are only two ways out, and he cannot bring himself to take one of them.

"Bugger it," he says. Pulling away from Charles, he takes off his shirt. The bullet falls free from the folds of cloth and hits the stone floor with a metallic noise that rings loud in the sudden silence. Fitz's blood-smeared, unmarked torso speaks for itself.

_"Mon dieu,"_ Rene gasps.

"Are you a robot?" Etienne asks tentatively. 

"He's some sort of government superman," Charles says.

Fitz can't help it. He starts laughing, and once he starts it takes him a minute or so to stop. Charles, Rene and Etienne look affronted. Claude is as calm as ever, though there's something expectant in the way he's looking at Fitz.

"I'm sorry," Fitz says weakly. "It's just -- I'm not a robot. Or a government-made superman."

"Then what are you?" Etienne demands. There are twin spots of colour high on his cheekbones. Fitz can't tell if it's fear or excitement.

"I'm Immortal," he says.

He swears them to secrecy, of course, and believes entirely that they will keep their word.

They will, though only Etienne will survive the war. The other three will die in Auschwitz. Fitz will be with them when the Gestapo finally arrive. He will put a bullet through his own head as the door comes down and wake in a shallow grave, grateful beyond measure for their silence.

* * *

_Author's Notes: Written for the highlander50 challenge at livejournal. This is unbeta'd, so please forgive (and feel free to point out) any mistakes. _

_Feedback? Is love._


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